Love CombaticonStyle
by kepulver
Summary: G1 -- Five ficlets about the Combaticons and their individual approaches to love.


**Love: Combaticon-Style:**

**Place:** Decepticon War Academy, Classroom #341

**Time:** Six Million Years Ago

Vortex was in love.

No. No, love was too soft a term, not nearly strong enough for what he was currently feeling. Lust, that was the right word. Lust explained why he couldn't take his optics off the viewscreen at the front of the room.

Around the room, others were shielding themselves from the images on the screen -- dimming their optics, rerouting visual sensors, or in a few brave or foolhardy cases, physically turning away.

But not Vortex. He stared. He ogled. If he'd had a mouth, he'd have been gaping as he leaned forward to try and get closer to the action. Who knew a simple welder could be used to hurt somebody so badly? And on such a delicate setting! Oh sure, he'd used one on a mech's externals before, but he'd never even dreamed of the possibility that one could be used internally!

He stared, listening to the calm, almost conversational tone of the interrogator in the video as she continued to ask questions of the Autobot prisoner, ignoring his screams and curses without so much as an optic-flash of reaction. Vortex was amazed at how relaxed she seemed, even as she held the welder's flame to the prisoner's personality component, delicately singeing away bits of who the prisoner was.

Vortex wanted to be her. He wanted it so badly he could feel it like an ache in his circuits. He wanted it more than he wanted anything else and he vowed to himself that he would do whatever it took to get that good. He leaned closer, stretching out over his desk, getting ever closer as if proximity would grant him his wish. He was almost there when...

"_Vortex_!" Scold's voice was anything but calm as she roared at him. "Pick up that desk and sit down right! or you're going to be my next demonstration drone!"

X X X

**Place:** Decepticon Central Stores, Invoice's Office

**Time:** Six Million Years Ago

The secret, Swindle had found, was to look just guilty enough to appear normal. Looking innocent was just a sign that you were up to something.

So, there he stood with his hands clasped in front of him and fidgeted, letting his optics flicker anxiously as he watched the femme behind the desk.

For the moment, Invoice wasn't watching him. Instead, she was looking over a data pad, checking inventory records. With a sigh, she looked up at him.

"Want some music while you dance, boy?" she asked.

Swindle froze in place. "Ma'am?" he said, cocking his head to one side. "I don't understand."

Invoice waved a hand at him. "I just figured since you were putting on a floor show, you might want some accompaniment."

"Sorry." Swindle shrugged, trying to look meek and harmless without looking like a complete and total suck-up. "Just, uh, wondering why you wanted to see me, ma'am, that's all."

Invoice leaned back in her chair, blue optics shining brightly. She looked amused. "Well, seems that there's the matter of some supply records that just don't jibe -- thought maybe you could help me clear up the discrepancies."

Uh-oh. Swindle screwed his face up in confusion. "Ma'am?" he said. "I don't understand."

Invoice set the data pad down and slid it across her desk. "First column's the supply requests you've made on behalf of your team," she said, indicating the correct spot. "Second column shows what's actually been moved out of my supply bays." Invoice paused to let him study the spreadsheet before continuing in an almost gentle tone of voice. "You can see the inconsistencies from the second moon, son. Care to start explaining now?"

Swindle studied the figures, jaw dropping in dismay. "There's no way!" he yelped. "I covered my tracks! Even down to Central Stores! Everything balanced in the official registers!"

Invoice chuckled, reaching out for the data pad. "Oh, you were clever," she said. "took me a while to figure out what was up -- problem was you only tapped into the official registers, not the real registers. "

Swindle stared. 'I don't get it," he said. "What d'you mean "'real registers'?"

"There's the official registers that show what's supposed to be in stores," In voice said. "Then there's the books I keep that show the level of pilfering that High command expects to see and that's overlooked so long as we're not too greedy and then there's the real books that show me what's really out there in the stores and on the black market." Invoice laughed. "Simple shifty accountancy, surprised you've never heard of it. Your name's Swindle, you should really be better at this.."

Swindle stared at Invoice, feeling the first vague prickling of the need to acquire tickling at the back of his processors. "Show me?" he asked, the words almost a whimper. "Please?"

"Once you're out of the brig, sure," Invoice said, grinning as the two security troopers stepped into her office. She dropped to radio communication for the last part. "Just don't rat me out or you won't be leavin' the brig except as spare parts."

X X X

**Place:** Guadalcanal

**Time:** 1986

The jungle was full of the sounds of living things -- the wind in the trees, insects buzzing and, best of all, the sounds of his brothers sleeping.

Onslaught watched them from the edge of the clearing. Brawl and Blast Off had reverted to vehicle mode -- strange, alien forms, similar to what they'd once been, yet still so different -- and were resting nose cone to barrel muzzle. Near by, Vortex and Swindle were still in robot mode, leaning against each other and not quite holding hands.

"You should rest now." Starscream stepped up beside him. "We have a lot to do tomorrow. I need you all at your best."

"I am fine," Onslaught said, not taking his optics off his brothers. "You have nothing to worry about."

"You have nothing to be afraid of." Starscream stepped closer, resting a hand on Onslaught's arm. "You and your teammates are vital to my plans. When we topple Megatron, you will take your rightful place as my lieutenants. You will be able to exact your revenge up on him -- and Shockwave -- for what they did to you."

The thought of revenge was one that had sustained Onslaught throughout his incarceration. The knowledge that his fantasies were now closer to reality, in addition to his first intimate physical contact in nearly seventy-five thousand vorn was almost more than his processors could take.

Still, there were things more important, more vital to his team's survival than feeding his own base desires.

Onslaught grabbed Starscream's arms, fingers digging into the other mech's upper arms. "I warn you," Onslaught said, his voice low and threatening. "Do not think that you can use us as pawns for your plans. I will not allow myself or my brothers to be used again, no matter how attractive the offer. We'll help you gain your Empire and take our revenge on Megatron -- and our own on Shockwave and then we will be free of you and the Decepticons forever, do you understand me?"

"Of course." Starscream smiled then, a sympathetic, understanding smile as he slipped free of Onslaught's grip. "Here, walk with me." He applied a gentle pressure, but ultimately allowing Onslaught to take the first step. "Let us talk more about this, privately. I'm sure we can come up with an arrangement that suits both of us."

Onslaught had let himself be led away, but not far enough that his brothers were out of his sight.

X X X

**Place:** Planet Earth, entering thermopause

**Time:** Circa 1990s

Blast Off was amusing himself by coming up with synonyms for "Seeker". So far, his list included _arrogant, vain, ineffective, obnoxious, loathsome, insufferable_ and _egotistical. _

"Seriously though," Skywarp was saying for the third time in as many breem. "We got perfectly good wings, I don't see why we couldn't just fly there."

Blast Off added _idiotic_ to his list.

Thundercracker's reply was indulgent and impatient. "Megatron's orders," he said. "Autobots'll be expecting a normal fly-by. They won't be ready for a high-altitude, low-transform drop. We'll come in faster, hit harder because of the surprise and be gone before they can retaliate."

"Yeahhh," Skywarp stretched the word out like a rubber band. "But, still..."

"It'll look cool, Warpo," Thundercracker said. "Okay? Just focus on that and you'll be fine. Blast Off, you ready?"

Blast Off almost transformed; in his shuttle mode, he couldn't glare sufficiently to display his contempt for the question. But, doing so at this altitude would mean a very, very long and very, very hot drop back into the lower atmosphere.

"I was built ready," he snapped. "We'll be entering low planetary orbit in three-quarters of a breem. I suggest you worry about preparing yourselves."

"Right." Thundercracker ran his fingers over the armrest of his seat. "You think you'll be able to concentrate on flying if I go ahead and input the disk with the mission coordinates?"

Blast Off snorted. "Please, if you had any understanding for the number of course corrections I'm currently performing as we speak, you wouldn't ask a stupid question like that."

"Ooh, touchy," said Skywarp. "You sound more like Daddy every day, Blast Off."

"A simple 'yes' would work," Thundercracker said, reaching over to bap the back of Skywarp's head. "And you? No antagonizing our ride. I got no desire for a repeat of last time."

"I was just kidding!"

"Kid when we're on the ground," Thundercracker said. "Right now, me and Blast Off have big mech things to talk about."

Skywarp didn't answer, but instead settled in to sulk.

"Alright," Thundercracker said, cracking the seal on a stiff plastic envelope. "Show me your data drive."

Blast Off flicked an indicator light over the drive on and off. "There," he said.

Thundercracker slid the disk into the drive, taking care not to simply shove it in. That simple kindness startled Blast Off; even his own brothers had a tendency to forget that his instrument panel was indeed as sensitive as any other part of his body. Possibly more so.

Thundercracker's fingers absent-mindedly caressed Blast Off's instrument panels as he entered the necessary commands to recalibrate Blast Off's navi-comp. "Alright," he said. "You should be able to access the coordinates. Lemme know if you're having trouble bringing them up."

Blast Off hesitated, momentarily caught off-guard by the feeling of Thundercracker's hands drumming absent-mindedly on his control stick. "Yes," he said, certain that his lapse was noticed. "Yes, I have the coordinates for the drop-off and the extraction. Just, just make certain you both arrive back on time."

Thundercracker chuckled. "Hey, I know the drill," he said. "And I'll make sure Warpo does too."

Blast Off snorted. "Good luck," he said.

Thundercracker laughed. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he said, moving to rise from his seat. "I'll need it. He's not that bad when you get past his flaws. I'm gonna head back and go through the drill with him again. Give us the beep when it's go-time, alright?"

"Of course." Blast Off was careful to keep his voice at its usual level of arrogant disdain even as he added another word to his list.

_Beguiling_

# # #

**Place:** Decepticon Undersea Base

**Time: **Circa 1990s:

Brawl was bored. He hated being bored.

Brawl was lonely too. He hated being lonely even more than the hated being bored.

It wasn't _fair_. Onslaught had no _right_ to leave him behind. He wasn't hurt that bad. Scrapper had already released him from medbay. Onslaught could have waited for him, easily.

It was all Megatron's fault. Megatron was the one who'd sent the others off on the stupid mission in the first place. Onslaught should have fought him on it. Right now, Ons was having to deal with Swindle and Vortex without having Brawl around to keep order. _That_ would show him.

"I'm still bored!" Brawl bellowed, his voice echoing back and forth down the hallway as if taunting him -- which only made him madder.

"Shut up!" Blitzwing roared back. "I'm _trying_ to _watch_ the _game_!"

"You shut up!" Brawl stomped into Blitzwing's quarters, only to find the Triple-Changer sprawled on a recharger, staring at a viewscreen showing a bunch of humans running around on a field. "Looks dumb."

"Shut up." Blitzwing didn't bother turning to look at Brawl. "Is not."

"Is too." Brawl stepped closer, staring at the screen. "What're they doing?"

"Playing football," Blitzwing said. "American football. Don't gimme no lip about football being soccer or I'll crush your head like an empty cube."

Brawl had no idea what Blitzwing was saying, but he knew a threat when he heard one. "You can try," he snapped back. "I ain't scared of you. Why'd I be scared of some wimp who wants t'watch humans dance around, huh?"

On the screen, the scene changed with the strange rapidity common to human programming. Now, small human man was standing in front of a white and red flag, squeaking in agitation as they tended to do. Blitzwing turned from the screen and stared levelly at Brawl.

"It's football," Blitzwing said again. "Not dancing, understand? Football. Possibly the finest sport ever invented by humans. Closest damn thing I've ever seen to them having real culture. Even a low-signal kitbash like you should be able to appreciate this."

Brawl grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Looks stupid," he said.

Blitzwing sighed. "You think battle tactics are stupid?" he asked as the game came back on.

Part of Brawl desperately wanted to say 'yes' simply for the pure contrariness of doing so, but vorn of training won out in the end. "No."

"Well, that's what this is." Blitzwing gestured to the screen. "See? The Dolphins got the ball so they're trying to get it through the Colts' territory and through their goal post so they can score."

Brawl stared at the screen, head tilting to one side. "Where's the guns?" he asked.

"They don't use guns," Blitzwing said. "They can knock each other down, they can chase each other, they can throw the ball but they can't shoot each other."

Despite himself, Brawl found himself leaning forward over the couch, watching the screen with interest. "Still sounds dumb," he said, though there was no real heat to his words. "What's the point if you can't shoot 'em?"

"D'you shoot people in training?" Blitzwing paused. "Wait, forgot who I'm talking to. Look, sometimes, it's just fun to hit somebody, right?"

"Yeah." Brawl nodded as a pair of humans slammed into each other on the screen. Only one stood back up; the other lay on the ground, clutching one of his legs and writhing in pain. "Heh, okay, maybe this ain't so bad."

"Toldja," Blitzwing said. "This whole game's like that; you think that hit was good, you shoulda been here for the first quarter. They took a guy out on a stretcher, he's probably gonna be out for the rest of the season."

"What happened to him?" Brawl asked.

"Wait 'til the game's over an' I'll show you," Blitzwing said. "Astrotrain's gonna be back soon, we can sack him."

"Huh?"

"That." Blitzwing pointed to the screen where a group of humans were diving on top of one of the opposing team. "Sound like fun?"

"Hell yeah!"


End file.
